


A Blessed Home

by MannaTea



Category: When Calls the Heart (TV)
Genre: F/M, Infertility, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:00:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27543478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MannaTea/pseuds/MannaTea
Summary: Rosemary and Lee cope with the infertility struggle in different ways while trying not to lose hope. (Please note the rating before reading.)
Relationships: Leland Coulter/Rosemary LeVeaux
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	A Blessed Home

**Author's Note:**

> You can find some Tumblr notes [here.](https://mannatea.tumblr.com/post/634688894588338176/a-blessed-home-a-when-calls-the-heart-fic-words)

When Lee entered the bedroom, he found Rosemary already in bed. This wasn’t a new occurrence, exactly, as she’d taken to retiring early when her mind needed a fresh start, but the position she was in was _very new_.

She wasn’t in the bed so much as on it, on her hands and knees, perfect little bottom facing him as he stood in the doorway.

He didn’t say anything about it for a moment, half because it would be stupid of him not to drink in the sight, and half because he knew she was expecting it.

Sure enough, when his silence dragged on too long, she tossed her long hair with an exaggerated _huff_.

He relented. “I thought you said you were going to get comfortable for the night.”

“As you can see plain as day with your own eyes,” came her immediate response, as if she’d been rehearsing the line before his arrival, “I’ve done exactly that!”

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Not a bit. The opposite, in fact.” There was a sly edge to her voice that made his pants feel tight.

“Interesting,” he said, and moved to the bureau, fingers loosening his tie as he went.

“Interesting?” she repeated after a few seconds had passed, sinking down onto her elbows. “ _Interesting_? That’s all you have to say right now?”

“What should I say?”

“I daresay you should be in awe!”

The offended tone in her voice was so exaggerated it made him laugh. “Oh, I am. But I can’t join you until I’ve—” he struggled to think of a word that would match her mood and finally settled on “—disrobed.”

She hummed with something that sounded like approval and he quickly rid himself of his tie and vest. This definitely wasn’t the usual post-dinner ritual, but he’d be a fool not to take advantage of it, right?

Even as he worked on getting out of his shirt, there was a niggling bit of doubt at the back of his mind. Despite how much Rosemary loved the theater, she didn’t usually bring her theatrics into their private life, at least not to this extent, but as long as she seemed happy, the least he could do was try to keep her that way.

By the time he climbed up into the bed, she was studying her nails. He put a hand on her bare back. “You _are_ cold,” he said.

“It’s not polite to keep a lady waiting,” was her response, but she put her palms flat against the blankets and shifted, bottom wiggling at him playfully.

“Like this?” he asked as his hands found her shoulders, rubbing them gently.

“What do you mean, _like this_? I’m not posing like this to read the latest fashion magazine, you know!”

He laughed a little, pressing close enough that she could feel his growing desire. “You know what I mean,” he tried. “This isn’t the usual.”

“Maybe the usual is getting stale?”

He knew better than that. “I’m no judge, but judging by the way you carried on last time, I’d say staleness isn’t something we need to worry about.”

Her exasperated sigh was loud in the room. “Fine,” she said, tossing her hair again as it fell in her face, “I just want the opportunity to concentrate on the way you _feel_. So if you’ll be so kind…”

“And you’re sure you want it like this?”

“Lee, I am drying up as we speak.”

She clearly wasn’t, though. He shifted a bit, the tip of his dick pushing into her just slightly. She was wet and warm, inviting, but he held back, fingers rubbing at her neck a bit.

The silence stretched on until she broke it, as she usually did. “Are _you_ the uncertain one right now?”

He had to be honest. “A little. It just seems so…” he fumbled for a word, “base.”

She laughed, a full-bellied thing that made her shake all over. “Leland Coulter!” she almost shrieked, amusement thick in her voice, the hint of a giggle right around the corner. “I am your _wife_! If we want to rut like animals how could there be any harm in it?”

Something about the way she worded it made him harder.

“I felt that, Lee,” she said, overly pleased with herself as she pushed back against him, taking him into her a little more. “Look, if it’s not for you, maybe you should just try a good old-fashioned bit of make-believe! You know, _acting_!”

He moved his hands down to her hips and pushed into her slowly. “Acting?”

Her muscles tightened momentarily around him as he came to a stop and then loosened again. “You know,” she said, “pretend you’re a rugged cowboy and I’m a dance hall floozy! Or a cute saloon girl! Or a—”

“I’d make a terrible cowboy,” he said before he started moving, “so I’ll have to pass on that.”

“How gracious of you,” came her response, “but I think it could be very adventurous of us to try. Just imagine it for a moment, will you? You’re a rugged cowboy with a handsome face who comes to the saloon for a hot meal and a drink every Saturday night during the long, _lonely_ winter. I’m the fun-loving woman who serves your drinks and your food, and sometimes I even play the piano when it’s not busy.”

“All right,” he said, trying to picture it in his head: a dimly lit bar, Rosemary seated at the shabby piano, the light from a wall lantern catching her lovely hair as her fingers danced over the worn ivories. “I’d be half in love with you before I even heard you sing.”

“What would you be in love with?” she asked.

“Your eyes, your smile, the dramatic little flair you put into placing a drink in front of me, the way your hair falls down your back while you play the piano, begging to be touched.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice catching a little, though whether it was with emotion or a moan he couldn’t be sure. “I’m a lucky gal to have caught the eye of a man like you… And wouldn’t you know, one day when the saloon is empty but for the two of us, I’ll sit at the piano to play a song just for you! Maybe I’ll even sing a little, too.”

“Only a little?”

“Something soft. I’m trying to make you want me.”

“And we end up like this?”

She laughed. “Behind the bar, clothes half on, the sound of the bottles clinking slightly from our movement, our voices almost scandalously raucous in the candlelight.”

“I might be a cowboy in this scenario, but I like to think I’d still be a bit of a romantic.”

“ _No one_ is more romantic than you are, Lee,” she almost purred. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, I might like to see you find pleasure at the same time I do. I think a fun-loving woman like you might know a little about how to help that along.”

She tightened around him a moment after her hand slipped between her legs. “Oh, yes,” she agreed. “A woman needs to know how to tend to her own needs when she faces the potential of a future alone.”

“Except this one night.”

“Except this one night,” she agreed, and giggled. “But I can’t expect even a handsome cowboy to know how to show a woman pleasure!”

He reached around to the front of her, pushing her hand away, and found her swollen clit easily. “You’d be surprised to find out what _this_ cowboy knows,” he said, and shifted so that he could rock into her and stroke her at the same time.

It never took long to please Rosemary; she always knew exactly what she wanted, and how, and had never been shy about giving detailed instructions. In Lee’s humble opinion, it was just another great thing about her to add to his ever-growing list. How many men were lucky enough to have a wife so forthright with her opinions and desires that satisfaction was easily reached for both of them?

He felt her come undone, back arching, voice catching in a hard moan that she muffled in their pillow, muscles gripping him so tight she’d only barely finished shuddering before he found his release.

“Stay in,” she said softly, almost begging, reaching for his hand. “Stay in, just a bit longer. Just in case.”

He obeyed, hand holding hers tightly.

Cleanup was effortless between them, a practiced routine. They were both the type of people who liked things to be neat and tidy, and this was no exception. It was amusing to him how compatible they were in seemingly insignificant ways.

Back in bed, this time under the blankets, Rosemary all but dove into his arms, her soft nightgown catching against a little callous on his thumb. He held her, one hand gently brushing through her hair, and waited. She would break the silence eventually; she always did.

“I just wanted to enjoy the way it felt,” she told him after a while, the confession coming out in such a meek little tone it made his heart hurt. “Instead of all the—instead of thinking about how much I love you, and how love is supposed to give us what we want.”

A baby, of course. The battle never ended; their inability to conceive had been a raincloud over their post-dinner hours for too long, but neither of them knew what to do about it. No amount of reassurance seemed to fix the problem.

“I do love you, Lee. More than I can say plainly.” Her voice shook. “I don’t know why it’s not enough.”

Lee remembered the little tiff they’d had before their marriage when they’d discussed the potential of having children. He’d wanted them, then, and Rosemary had not. Now the opposite was truer; she wanted a child more than anything and he was ready to hang that dream on the wall. If it happened, it happened, but it was all right if it didn’t.

“You and your love are enough for me, Rosie,” he said, kissing her temple, his heart feeling heavy in his chest. “You’ll always be exactly enough.”

“I know,” came her eventual response, sounding tired and worn, though just minutes ago she’d been moaning out his name as she neared her climax.

Sometimes he forgot how good of an actress she really was; she was adept at hiding the parts of herself she felt were truly undesirable or embarrassing.

It reminded him of the year they’d tried seriously for a baby. Scheduled intimacy put a strain on their relationship and their ability to enjoy even the physical pleasure of the act, but she’d tried to act normal. Happy, even, as if the disappointment of seeing her cycle arrive every month wasn’t taking its toll on her. She’d almost fallen apart from the stress of bottling everything up, hiding it all.

From him. Her husband.

They’d had a talk about it, about sharing emotions, about being honest, about God’s plan for them and the fact that they didn’t know which of them was the problem or if there was a problem at all. Maybe they were simply unlucky.

And child or no child, he knew exactly how he felt.

"You’re my family, Rosie, and I’m proud of that, proud of you.” He stroked her hair back from her face and pressed his forehead to hers. “You are a wonderful wife, a perfect friend, and everything I need to be happy. I’m lucky to have someone like you.”

"Someone like me,” she repeated softly, her lips almost brushing his.

“Yes.” He couldn’t help but speak tenderly. She needed to hear it, maybe just this once, or maybe every day for the foreseeable future. He wouldn’t mind repeating it as many times as it took for her to believe. “Someone like _you_. Every day I get to wake up to you in my life, and every day I’m amazed by how much more I love you.”

She sniffed, and when she spoke her voice was wobbly. “More love every day?”

“Every single day.”

She laughed, but it sounded watery. “That’s a lot of love by now.”

“It is, but wouldn’t you know…? You deserve it.”

She swallowed hard, and pressed a tiny kiss to the tip of his nose. “It’s true,” she said, a little bit of confidence returning to her voice. “I do. I’m a good wife. I’m a good friend.”

“Wonderful wife,” he corrected. “Perfect friend.”

She laughed again, the wateriness gone from her voice. “All right, _Lee_.” She added some dramatic flair to her words, making them sound regal, as if speaking them from the grandest stage in the west. “I’m a wonderful wife and a perfect friend.”

He grinned and pulled her close. “And,” he said, amusement tickling his words, “tonight taught me that you’re a pretty good saloon-girl, too, if I do say so myself!”

She giggled a little. “I’m an amazing actress, you know. I can play any part.”

“I know. But you don’t have to do that with me. I love you for you, Rosie.”

She held him tight for a long moment as if to thank him for the sentiment. “I know,” she echoed, pulling away to look at him. Her eyes were dry, a small smile blossoming on her face as she spoke. “And I love you for you, Lee…which is a good thing, because I am _sorry_ to say this but…I have to say this: you are _not_ the greatest actor!”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “You knew that when you married me!”

She lifted a hand to brush her fingers through his hair. “I did. It’s why I fell in love with you, Lee. Not that _exactly_ , but because pretending doesn’t come naturally to you. I love your honesty. I need it.” She kissed him then, the softest, tenderest little thing. “Good night,” she said, and rolled over in his arms. “I love you.”

That meant the conversation was over. It was sudden, but that was just Rosie; once she’d decided upon something, she acted without hesitation. She wanted to sleep, needed to put her disappointment in herself down so that she could start tomorrow fresh again. Maybe it would be easier for her after their conversation. He hoped so.

So he settled in, nose against her hair, love in his heart, and wished her pleasant dreams.

**Author's Note:**

>  _“A blessed home is not a home full of kids, but a home where there is peace, harmony and understanding.”_  
>  ― Michael Bassey Johnson, _The Infinity Sign_


End file.
